


The Lack

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: FrostIron - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This could not even be called black as black was a color and what was before him was an absence of one. Menacing. Haunting. Dangerous. It swallowed him up, suffocating him, only letting pained gasps and labored pants escape his lips as he writhed in the darkness, trying to break free, trying to resurface, doubting if he will ever see light again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lack

            Loki opened his eyes to find himself staring at the same darkness that had been behind his eyelids. Only darker. He swallowed hard, setting his jaw. He was there again. Alone. Lost. Forgotten.

 

            He could feel the night _pulsing_ around him, and he knew _he_ was here. Loki could not see _him_ , but he could swear he felt his presence, his breathing shallow somewhere, his scent sharp and menacing, his taste heavy on his tongue.

 

            A soft, quiet whimper escaped his lips as he looked around, seeing nothing but the same solid pattern, identical black, unchanging lack of light. He looked up, to see nothing above him. No stars. No moon. No sky.

 

            This could not even be called black as black was a color and what was before him was an absence of one. Menacing. Haunting. Dangerous. It swallowed him up, suffocating him, only letting pained gasps and labored pants escape his lips as he writhed in the darkness, trying to break free, trying to resurface, doubting if he will ever see light again.

 

            There was no simple way to describe what he was feeling, as there were no hands on his chest to cut off his air, there _was_ no air. He was alone, nothing, manmade or natural around him. There was no sensation of falling, there was no _sensation_. There was no emotion, and yet it felt like there was. Like there was _every_ emotion, in his mind, making his thoughts rush and his heart beat fast.

 

            There was no silence, but there was no sound. There was this emptiness in the air, the lack of sound, the lack of the lack of sound. The lack. There was this lack everywhere. And Loki was in the middle of it, getting crushed by the heaviness and at the same time lifted by the lightness. Although there was no lightness, and no heaviness. The world around him could not be described in adjectives, as there _was_ no world around him. He was alone.

 

            He tried to breathe as his lungs failed to function, having no access to air, _no air_. He screamed into the night, into the darkness, hoping that at least his voice would cut through this _nothingness_ around him, but of course, it did not. There was no voice. There was only the lack of it.

 

             He was nowhere, and as he screamed, or rather, tried to scream, he realized that he _was nothing_. Not a man, but a lack of one. A mess of emotions and memories, of hardship, evil, attempts and failures. Just a mess.

 

            He tried to breathe again, his lips opened widely, resembling a fish, but his tries were hopeless. His eyes rolled back in his head as he felt his body shaking violently, drops of sweat – _real, cold sweat –_ on his forehead, someone’s voice calling out his name, an alarmed, desperate voice thick with sleep which the owner had been torn from.

 

            “Loki!” it screamed. _Loki._ His name. The voice was growing hoarse, cracking with each desperate cry of _his_ name, the firm, heavy hands on his shoulders shaking him hard, bringing his seizing body back from the terrible nightmare.

 

            Loki’s eyes slowly fluttered open, his lips parting as he gasped for air that was actually there, seeing the darkness that was there _around_ him, seeing the man, the _man_ that was there, like he always was.

 

            “Tony,” he found himself breathing the name, his lips loving it more than they loved the air they were longing for, his pale trembling hands grasping the bronze ones on his shoulders, “Tony,” he repeated, and the other nodded, his messy, dark hair shaking with his head as he did.

 

            The next moment he found the soft lips on his, pressing hard against them, bringing his mind back, away from the dream with their neediness and the stubble grazing his chin. When _his_ _Tony_ leaned back, a soft smile stretched the very same lips.

 

            “Another nightmare?” the hoarse voice asked and Loki nodded, slowly, as if unsurely, as if uncertain, but really – he was sure. The nightmare was over, and he was back in his bed, in _their_ bed.

 

            Another beat and he felt the arms wrapping around him, moving his limp body to them, the covers like clouds around the pair as he rested his head on Tony’s chest, the vision forgotten as he calmed again. His breathing returned to even, the slender fingers curling around Tony’s waist as he let his eyes close again, feeling the amber ones on him as he fell asleep, knowing that with the man of iron was there. 


End file.
